Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Morning,” I say, taking the tea. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, studying me. “How did you sleep?”
“Not great. What’s the news this morning?”
She exhales. “It’s not too bad. We have refunded the fans for the show, it comes at a bit of a loss to you, but you’re earning enough to quickly cover it.”
I shrug. Money has never been why I do this. I rarely touch it. Those fans deserve their tickets refunded—I didn’t give them a complete show and I ran off the stage.
“That’s okay. And the news?”
“The news is the news, they’re spinning a million different stories. A stalker, an ex-lover, mental health issues, drug use—you name it, someone is writing about it. We’re doing a press release this morning, you can say something, clear up some confusion.”
I frown. “And what exactly am I supposed to say? That I saw my ex-boyfriend who used to bash me and froze?” She flinches. I feel bad for that and soften my face instantly. “Sorry.”
“Just simply say you’ve been unwell and had to rush off the stage because you were going to throw up.”
“And spark a million rumors that I’m pregnant?”
She purses her lips. “Well, you could simply say you’ve had a medical problem and felt extremely dizzy, but you’ll be well again for your next shows.”
“That’s probably the lie that’ll allow for the least amount of damage,” I mutter.
“I’ve ordered you some breakfast. Try and stay away from the internet. You know what it’s like, it isn’t helpful. Take a few hours, and then get ready. The conference is at lunch time.”
“And security?” I ask her.
“We have had no other reason to believe that Treyton is looking for you, Scarlett. We have security on extra alert, but at this stage I don’t believe we need anything more. It’ll only cause chaos. He may have been at the show. He may not have been. I see no reason that he would have to want to hurt you, so for now, we’re going to assume this was an ... emotional reaction to past events on your behalf.”
I blink.
Seriously? Is she serious?
An emotional reaction?
God damn her for not believing in me.
“I don’t feel safe, Susan. I’ve told you this before and you didn’t hear me. Please hear me now and put more security on.”
She flinches again; this time my face doesn’t soften.
“I’ll have them keep extra watch over you.”
Then she leaves.
Damn her.
I walk over to my phone and pick up, angrily punching out a text without thought. I don’t know why I do it, considering Maverick and I have only known each other a matter of a week, and yet I want to vent to him. Maybe because right now, probably outside of Amalie, he’s the only person I trust.
S – Susan doesn’t believe me. And it makes me cross. She’s not putting on extra security.
I send it, and then my tummy erupts in butterflies. Will he answer? Will he think I’m some sort of stage-5 clinger? Considering he only gave me his number last night ... Dammit. Why can’t text messages be reversed? Before I can think any more about it, the phone alerts me to an incoming text message. From him. My heart flutters and my fingers tremble a little as I rush to open it.
M – Susan needs a good fucking talking to. I will have some extra eyes on you. Don’t panic.
I push my lips out, think about it, and then decide to go with a simple reply.
S – Thank you. I really appreciate it.
M – Seen the news this morning?
I exhale.
S – I’ve been avoiding it.
M – Keep avoiding it. You feeling okay?
S – Yeah. Thanks.
He doesn’t reply after that, a small, sensitive part of me kind of feels like his messages were a little distant. But, he is a biker, and I don’t imagine bikers love texting a great deal. So maybe he sounds gruff because it isn’t really his thing. I push that thought aside and open up Facebook. I shouldn’t, I know this, but curiosity burns at me as I get onto my fan page and start reading.
My heart sinks into my chest as I scour over the words. We’re artists, we all have haters, but today it seems like they’re out in full force. There is a picture of me, frozen on stage, and I honestly look like I’m stoned and completely out of it. I’m staring at nothing—or so it would seem to onlookers—and my mouth is slightly agape, eyes empty. God. Not good. The comments make it a whole lot worse.
Another artist down to the drugs. What a waste of money. She doesn’t even sound good anymore.
She’s probably going to start stripping naked on the stage next, to get attention. Give up, bitch, your career is over. Waste of money.
I can’t believe I wasted time on this singer. She isn’t even good. She looks like a hooker. What’s with that shirt? Who comes on stage spaced out. I want a full refund and more!